In his career as a soldier Dave had been in many positions of peril, yet scarcely one had been as dire as that which now confronted him.

The shock came so quickly that he hardly realized what was happening before he was under water, and somebody seemed to be doing his best to stand on the young soldier’s shoulders.

Flinging the feet above to one side, Dave tried to reach the surface of the river. In doing this he slid past two more soldiers, both of whom clutched at him, one catching him by the coat, and the other by the neck.

To be held by the coat was of small importance in comparison to being deprived of one’s wind, and Dave lost no time in fighting off the fellow who had him by the neck. The hold was a strong one, and the youth feared he would be choked unless he broke it without delay.

There was a wild floundering on all sides, and in the mêlée somebody above kicked out sharply with his heavy boots. One boot struck the man who held Dave by the throat, and the grip was broken just when the youth was about to give up in despair. Then the young soldier felt his coat also freed, and he came up with a rush, to get a badly needed breath of air.

The majority of the soldiers were struggling madly to hold fast to the bits of wreckage floating around. Yells and groans rent the air, with an occasional prayer for assistance. Some had already gone down to their death, and others were fast losing what little strength was left to them.

“It’s no use trying to get hold of a board, or anything,” thought Dave. “They are all fighting like so many cats and dogs. I’ll save my strength, and strike out for shore.”

But striking out with his clothing on was by no means easy, and Dave had hardly covered a hundred feet when he found himself well-nigh exhausted. He tried to pull off his coat, but as he was doing this another boat hove into sight, coming straight for him.

“Hi! don’t run me down!” he screamed, and then, as the boat swerved to one side, he made a clutch at one of the oars. Willing hands were out-stretched to him, and in a moment more he was on board, where he sank to the bottom, panting for breath. Two others were picked up in similar fashion, and then the boat swept on to its destination.

The shooting of the St. Lawrence rapids by the army under General Amherst was never forgotten by those who participated in it. During that reckless ride over sixty boats were either totally wrecked or greatly damaged, and more than eighty soldiers lost their lives through drowning. As one boat after another shot through the swirling waters the French gathered on the upper bank of the river, fully expecting to see every one of their enemy go down to destruction.

The rapids passed, the boats, or what was left of them, sailed down Lake St. Louis, and landed at Isle Perrot, at a point about twenty miles above Montreal. Here many of the half-drowned ones were cared for, and some of the boats were temporarily repaired.

“We are well out of that,” said Dave, when on land once more. “I shall never attempt to shoot those rapids again;” and he never did.

It had taken three weeks to reach Isle Perrot, and now word came in by Indian messengers that General Murray was also advancing on Montreal from the northeastward, and that General Haviland was ready to strike whenever required.

“We now have the French as in a vise,” said General Amherst. “They cannot get away from us.” The next day, early in the morning, the army left Isle Perrot again, and landed on the north bank of the river at La Chine. Here there was some slight show of opposition, but soon the French outposts, and also a number of the inhabitants of La Chine, fled towards Montreal, leaving the English army to land its guns and stores at its leisure.

“On to Montreal!” was now the cry on all sides, and the spirits of the soldiers revived wonderfully, for all felt that a deathblow was soon to be struck to the war which had now lasted for five long years.

It was a beautiful day in early September, and had Dave not been troubled by thoughts of Henry and Barringford, he would have enjoyed the march along the river bank. A regimental band played the liveliest of military airs, and when the band did not play a Colonial drummer and a fifer kept the Royal Americans in step.

Yet it must be confessed that the soldiers were a motley collection. Even the showy uniforms of the grenadiers, and the Royal Artillery, were sadly in need of repairs, while the so-called uniforms of the Royal Americans, never very good, and of a dozen different designs, were practically in tatters. Dave’s uniform confessed to half a dozen rents, and twice as many patches, and his gun, a flint-lock dating back to the war in Scotland, was a clumsy affair that looked as if it was in danger of exploding every time he discharged it.

The next day found Amherst’s army encamped almost under the walls of Montreal, to which city the French had flocked from all directions, pleading for protection at the hands of Governor-General Vaudreuil. As Amherst drew near from one direction, Murray and his army came up from the other, while Haviland encamped on the south shore of the St. Lawrence, immediately in front of Montreal.

The city was now in a state of siege, and the French well knew that if they opened fire on the English the enemy would retaliate by bombarding houses, public buildings, and churches, with a great loss of life and property. Many of the Canadians had gone home to their farms, and some of the French regulars had also deserted, so that the army in the city did not number over twenty-five hundred men.

“We cannot fight them,” said Vaudreuil. “They have not less than seventeen thousand soldiers, and hundreds of cannon, and large quantities of ammunition. If we fight, the city will be laid low from end to end; and men, women, and children ruthlessly slaughtered.”

Lévis, a born fighter, demurred at first, but soon saw the wisdom of the advice; and a council of war was held. It was a stormy scene, and it took many hours to draw up a form of capitulation. The French officers wished to march out of Montreal with the honors of war, and wished many other things; and these were all put into the paper which was sent to General Amherst the next morning.

“I cannot grant this form of capitulation,” said Amherst, on looking the paper over. “I will grant some conditions, but not others. The whole force must lay down its arms, and not serve again during the present war.”

When this answer was brought back, Vaudreuil merely shrugged his shoulders, but Lévis went into a rage, and vowed he would never submit.

“I will myself send a note to General Amherst to show him that he is asking too much,” said Lévis, and sent the note without delay. In return Amherst stated that he was fully resolved to make the army lay down its arms. He was horrified over the way the French Indians had been allowed to massacre wounded and helpless English soldiers, and he considered that the enemy must be taught a stern lesson in retaliation.

It was a time of wild excitement in Montreal, for the citizens, and those who had come into the city for protection, were afraid that the English might bombard the place at any moment. When a cannon boomed out as a signal, a hundred cries would ring out. Business had come to a complete standstill, and many places were boarded and locked up; and in some instances goods of value, and money, and jewels, were buried.

For the time being those in the various prisons about the city were practically neglected, and in at least three cases the prisoners almost starved to death because of this neglect. The keeper of the jail in which Henry was confined went off one night, and failed to appear during the next day.

“Something is wrong, that’s sure,” said one of the prisoners. Then he yelled loudly for water, but nobody came to answer his demand.

Henry was pale and thin, and suffered as much for the want of fresh air as for proper food. The jail was a vile place, and the conditions there were steadily growing worse. One prisoner had committed suicide, and another had gone stark, raving crazy.

“If this keeps on I’ll go crazy myself,” said Henry. “The food is not fit for a dog to eat.”

Strange to say, he had not seen or heard of Jean Bevoir since the French trader had threatened him through the bars of the prison door. As a matter of fact, Bevoir had attempted to have the youth brought before the military court as a spy, but the French commander had refused to listen to his plea.

“You are too anxious in this, sir,” said the officer sternly. “I think you must have a grudge against the young fellow. I have no official report against him, and in such a prison he is probably suffering as much as he deserves.” And Jean Bevoir sneaked away from headquarters feeling very much as if somebody had kicked him.

Truth to tell, the French commander felt that a crisis was at hand, and that it would not now do to hang or maltreat any of the English prisoners. He even ordered that the prisoners be given better rations, but this order, in the case of the jailer at Henry’s jail, was disobeyed, the jailer selling the extra rations to the outsiders in the town at a handsome profit.

On the night following the disappearance of the jailer, matters reached a climax in the prison. There was a fight for some water that still remained in a keg in one corner, and this quickly changed to a revolt, in which the jail door was broken down. The prisoners ran forth and scattered in all directions; and although a French guard soon came on the scene and shot down two of the men, the others got away.

With the escaping ones went Henry, almost as reckless as were the leaders. For a while he remained with two of the soldiers who had been quite friendly, but when the shooting began he ran through a back yard, leaped over a stone wall, and made his way along a street that was almost deserted. He was now entirely alone, and, coming to an open hallway, he slipped into a house. He heard sounds of voices in a lower room, and, without stopping to think twice, bounded up the stairs to the second floor.

“Perhaps I’m running into a trap, but I’ve got to risk it,” he told himself; and after a slight hesitation opened a door near the head of the stairs. The room was a bedchamber, and in the center stood a large, square, “four-poster” bed, with the top hangings partly drawn. A man lay on the bed, tossing uneasily, as if in something of a fever. On a chair rested a French uniform, showing that the sleeper was an officer.

“It won’t do for me to stay in such hot quarters as these,” thought Henry. “I had better get out just as fast as I came in.”

He started back for the hallway, but now came steps on the stairs, and the rattle of dishes, followed by some talking. Henry glanced around him, saw a closet in a corner of the room, and dove into it. Just as he closed the door of the closet he caught a brief glimpse of a woman with a tray, followed by a girl of about his own age. Both entered the bedchamber, closing the door tightly behind them.

A murmur of voices followed, and Henry surmised that the sleeping man had awakened, and that the two women were urging him to partake of the food they had brought. The talking was in French, so he understood but little.

Presently the girl moved across the bedchamber, and before Henry realized what was coming the door of the closet was flung open. As the young soldier was exposed to view, the girl gave a scream, and then uttered several words in French:

“A man! An English soldier!”

“What is it you say?” demanded the man in the bed, and, turning over, he drew a pistol from under his pillow.

“A man—an English soldier,” repeated the girl. “Oh, Louis, what shall we do?”

“Stand where you are!” ordered the sick man, and sat up in bed with the pistol pointed at Henry’s head.

“Oh, Louis, my son, have a care!” put in the woman. “He may kill you!”

“I am not afraid, mother,” was the answer. “You forget what risks I have taken in the past——”

“But you are still weak. The doctor——”

“The doctor doesn’t know me, mother. I am worth a dozen sick men at this minute. Please let me deal with him, and both of you stand aside, so that the fellow can’t hide himself behind you.”

The girl and the woman were willing enough to do this, and shrank away from the closet. Then, struck by a sudden idea, the woman backed herself up to the door leading to the hallway.

Feeling himself cornered, Henry threw up his hands, and stepped out of the closet.

“Don’t fire,” he said as quietly as he could, although his heart was thumping loudly in his breast.

“If you have a pistol throw it on the bed,” said the Frenchman in excellent English.

“I am totally unarmed,” was Henry’s ready answer.

“Is it possible! Where did you come from?”

Henry began to explain, when the French officer suddenly interrupted him.

“Am I mistaken, or have we met before?” he said.

“I do not remember you,” returned Henry, puzzled at the unexpected question.

“Did you come from Quebec?”

“I did.”

“You were on guard duty there?”

“I was.”

“At and near the shop of one Lavelle, a gold and silver smith?”

“Yes, yes! But you—you——” faltered Henry.

At this the French officer gave a chuckle.

“I was there, too,” he said. “It was I who escaped from the cellar that night. They tried to catch me, but ha! ha! I was too quick for them. I showed them what a French spy can do when he is put to it!”